“The trouble is, I don't know what to say,” continued the old woman; “but I thought I'd tell you what pride will do sometimes, when anybody calls in its aid. If--if what they all think is so--if the young man _has_ really lost his life in--in a matter of such a questionable nature, then your womanly pride ought to back you up considerably. I have never alluded to it, Cynthia, for I haven't been much of a hand to encourage ideas of superiority in one person over another, but away back in the history of the Radcliffes and the Cuylers and the Prestons, who were our kin in Virginia, I've been told that the women were beautiful, and great belles in the society at Richmond, before and, after the Revolution. Why, honey, I can remember my grandmother telling us children about being at big balls and dinners where George Washington was entertained, and lords and ladies of the old country. I was too young to understand what it meant, but I remember she told us about the great droves of negroes her father owned, and the carriages and silver, and the big grants of land from the king to him. One of her uncles was a royal governor, whose wife was a lady of high title. I was talking to Colonel Price about a month ago at the veteran's meeting at Cohutta Springs, and he said he had run across a family history about the Radcliffes where it said all of them came down from the crowned heads of England. I believe he was right, putting all I remember to what he said, and, lying in bed just now, it struck me that maybe one of those ladies away back there would not let a tear drop from her proud eyes over--over a young man who had met with misfortune as a consequence of bad conduct. Ever since you were a little girl I have been proud of your looks, honey. You have fine, delicate features; your hands are small and taper to the end of the fingers, and your ankles are slender like a fine-blooded race-horse, and your feet have high insteps and are pretty in shape. We are poor; we have been so such a long time that almost all record of the old wealth and power has passed out of our memory, but a few generations of poverty won't kill well-grounded pride and dignity.” “Oh, granny, granny, you needn't talk to me so,” Cynthia said, calmly. “I know what you mean, and you sha'n't be ashamed of me. I promise you that.” “I believe you, Cynthia, for you are showing self-respect right now. Go to bed, dear, and take your mind off of it. I'm going now. Good-night.” “Good-night, granny.” Cynthia stood up, and with her arms around the frail, bowed old woman, she tenderly kissed her on the brow and led her to the door.